“Gassed” by John Singer Sargent
I walked out the front door and into the night. It was a new moon out, so it was particularly dark, but I didn’t mind. After all, I was just driving over to my friend’s house to pick up some Vicks. I had been complaining all day about my cold, and she had finally had enough of it. I was exhausted from school, and all I wanted to do was take a nap, but I jumped into my mom’s old Kia Forte to make the twenty-minute drive I had made more times than I could count.
It wasn’t raining, but it was wet out. The kind of Denver weather where it feels like you’re walking through clouds when the fog descends over the city. Downtown it never gets so bad because of all the warmth from the cars. Over where I live, though, the fog always comes in thick and will settle until it warms up the next day. It's nothing new, driving in less than ideal conditions is part of life. You see everything all four seasons have to offer if you live there long enough, from snow, rain, hail, sleet, and even floods.
Tonight felt a little different, though. I only noticed it as I was getting onto the highway. I couldn’t see very far in front of me, but that usually wasn’t a problem. There was nothing wrong with the car, we had finally gotten it fixed for the first time in months, and it was running perfectly. For whatever reason, however, I couldn’t shake this feeling that I shouldn’t have left home.
Despite everything, my gut was telling me, the drive to her house was pretty uneventful. I drove slower than I would typically have, and I didn’t even see another car the whole way there. As I made the final turn into my friend’s neighborhood, I noticed a silhouette just barely visible on the ground between some trees. It wasn’t moving, but I could just barely make its outline out against the grass all around it. There was no way I was going to see what it was, so I drove past. It never moved.
As I left her house, Vicks on my chest and shoulders, I felt much better than I had before. If you’ve used Vicks before, you know the initial energy boost it gives you from the burn. I jumped back in my car and set back for my house. I almost forgot to look at what that shape was as I pulled out, but I couldn’t miss it as where it was once lying in complete darkness, was now surrounded by four human-shaped silhouettes, all pointing flashlights at it. At first, it looked like a dark mass growing from the ground. Now grew a tangle of legs and brown fur.
A deer, mangled and twisted almost beyond recognition, was lying not 10 yards from the road. Its head twisted at an impossible angle while its legs were bent and broken, pointing in every direction. I slowed to a crawl as I couldn’t look away. Its dark eyes stared dully at nothing while patches of dark fur told the tale of ruptured organs and hemorrhaged tissue just beneath its swollen surface. I pulled away, forcing myself to look out and break the spell.
I drove in silence as I pulled off the highway towards my home. Any energy I had was gone now, and I was fighting to stay awake. I had made this drive a thousand times, and from this point on, I could make it home on muscle memory alone.
The feeling in my stomach had grown since I had seen the deer. Its dull glazed eyes looked at me whenever I blinked. I almost didn’t believe it was happening at first. I blinked as quickly as I could for a few seconds just to see if I imagined it. Then I held them closed. Imprinted on the backs of my eyelids were the eyes of that deer. As I opened my eyes, light rushed in, then a loud sound, the eyes were back.
I parked just off the side of the road, not 10 yards from the curb, and the car came to rest. A mangled mess of metal twisted impossibly while the glass laid broken at its side. Inside, a 17-year-old boy laid flirting with consciousness as he tried his best not to see those dull eyes.
Beau Laracuente is one of the Poetry editors at DiN. He is an English major with a minor in Justice, Political Philosophy, and Law, expecting to graduate in 2022. While he is from Denver, he is located in Las Cruces, New Mexico.
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